


Two Lovers in the Rain

by Ersatz_Writer



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mitsuba lives, Angst, F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ersatz_Writer/pseuds/Ersatz_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'... Have No Need For an Umbrella. Which is why, she thinks, they need to share one.' Hijikata walks with Mitsuba through the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Lovers in the Rain

She sees him from afar, walking alone with his hands buried in his pockets and the rain pelting relentlessly upon his defenceless head.

Even after so many years, she thinks, his figure is so similar to the one she had last seen leaving the village. Tall and straight-backed, he moves even now with the same purpose and confidence which had adorned his posture so many years ago, always staring so firmly ahead, unperturbed by any wayward distraction.

She knows he has always been stubborn. Stubborn enough to follow his path without a single glance backwards; stubborn enough not to attend her wedding despite the invite; stubborn enough to leave her life without so much as a murmur, though she had pleaded for him to stay.

Stubborn enough also to walk through the rain without an umbrella, she thinks, though his uniform is already darkened with the droplets and his hair is plastered to his head. But he has always been like this. It has always been in Hijikata's nature to walk alone.

She knows, and has known, from the moment he turned from her and walked away, that his burden would not be hers to share.

Yet still she hurries after his figure, splashing through the puddles which sully the streets, through the icy chill seeping through her socks, through the grey sheet of rain that separates them, if only to see his face once more.

"Toshiro-san!"

At the sound of her voice, his body freezes, and when he turns she sees upon his face an expression like the boy of her memories. The faint, pink flush adorning his cheeks are just as she remembers them, as is the surprised light which shines in cerulean eyes. But now there is no pleasure at the sight of her. Gone is the small, delighted little smile which has once danced upon his features, and now there is nothing but a short, tight-lipped nod as the raindrops cascade upon his frame.

"I didn't think I'd see you here." He murmurs, expression wary.

"Neither did I," she answers, and tries a smile, for now she must smile for the two of them. "What are you doing in the rain? You'll catch a cold."

He looks startled, as though noticing the weather for the first time, and takes a hurried step back when she tilts her umbrella slightly in invitation. "N-No, I'm on duty," he mutters, hastily. "'M used to it, anyway. It's just a little water…"

"It's too cold. You'll get ill," she insists, firmly, and steps closer until they are both in the safety of her umbrella. His shoulders tense as she nears, but this time, thankfully, he does not move away. Still, his cheeks are flushed, and he fumbles clumsily at his cravat as though it were smothering him.

"I'm already wet," he says, finally, uselessly, as they walk together now under the grey, darkened skies of Edo. "I'm not even going the same way as you."

"Nonsense," she retorts gently. "You don't even know where I'm going."

"… Still not going the same way." He protests under his breath, and despite herself she giggles, quietly, behind her palm, and allows herself to believe, just for a moment, that everything is still as it should be.

"Well then, humour a sick lady, will you?" She proposes instead, smiling lightly though his face merely grows more expressionless. "Walk with me for a little bit. We… We haven't seen each other for a long time, Toshiro-san. There's a lot to talk about."

"I'm on patrol," is his only answer, but despite his words he continues to follow her obediently, trailing in her footsteps with a sense of something other than mere obligation. "… I've got nothin' to say, anyway."

She tries. She fights to keep her face alight but despite her efforts the smile wilts and fades and the words melt on her tongue. For the longest time, neither speaks, and the warning in his voice settles like frozen flakes around them.

Yet still they walk together, side by side, she with her hands clutching around her umbrella and her shopping, and he with his fingers pinching tightly around an already extinguished cigarette and eyes focused solely upon some distance far ahead.

The rain patters down upon the umbrella, an irregular, spirited rhythm to the dance of two intertwining heartbeats which should have stayed separate all along.

She leads him out of the city centre, turning away from the busy, crowded streets of Edo and towards a more docile end of the town, nestled among the borders of the countryside. Here, the air is gentler, cool with the breath of nature, and the houses which dot the neighbourhood are clean and modest. A stark contrast to the ragged, dirty sprawl of central Edo, there is a warm, comfortable contentedness about this area - a small bubble of safety, where ordinary people went about with their ordinary lives, away from the chaos of the city.

"So you live here, huh?" He speaks into the silence, glancing about him with an air of indifference. "Not bad."

She looks at him, though his head is turned slightly away and she could not accurately gauge his reaction. "Yes," she agrees, somewhat hesitantly, and finds a new sort of smile pulling at her lips – a small smile which no longer belonged to him. "Nobuyuki-san is… a good man. We chose this house out here because there's plenty of fresh air, and it's much closer to the hospitals, in case I…"

"Right," he says, shortly, pulling the damp cigarette out from his mouth to release a breath of absent smoke. "'s he treat you well?"

It is barely a question and more of a statement. He has halted now, the rain attacking his exposed shoulders and head with renewed vigour, but he would not look at her, eyes turned instead to observe the dark clouds scurrying above.

She bites her lip, and her voice is somewhat strained when she answers. "Yes," she manages, eventually, wondering why such words served only to bring tears to her eyes. With some difficulty, she swallows them away. "He… He loves me very much."

He does not respond immediately, his jaw shifting minutely as he grinds his teeth against the stump of his soggy cigarette. Then he takes it out of his mouth and lets out another breath, though still there is no smoke, only a soft sound suspiciously reminiscent of a sigh. "Good." He states, blandly, head falling, and the cigarette returns to his lips. "That's…"

She watches him, though he doesn't finish, stood alone on the isolated path with the rain slicking his hair and his head lowered as though unable to look forwards.

"You'll get a cold," she chides him again, like a mother, though there is no force in her words and she feels just like a puppet going through the motions.

"I'm fine," he mutters, and this time when he returns, he walks purposefully with one shoulder exposed so that it takes the brunt of the weather anyway.

It is ironic, she thinks, that they are walking together like this when the ending should have been so different. It was ironic, because they had both known. From the bottom of their hearts they'd known, and known it with such certainty too.

And yet...

"Damn weather," he growls now, with sudden venom. "Hate the rain."

She tries to stare straight ahead, because he doesn't. "Yes… It is cold for the summer. Unusual, isn't it?"

He grunts, as though that is answer enough, and takes another, non-existent drag on a cigarette which has clearly ceased to be of use.

She wants to ask him - _why do you still hold on to a light that has already died?_  - but cannot bring herself to. He seems to be in a reverie, a man walking as though dreaming. Perhaps he hasn't even realised that there is no longer any smoke pouring from his mouth or that the abused, broken thing between his lips could no longer provide for him. This is his illusion, and a small part of her fears to see him cast it aside, though it was so useless.

So she says nothing, and they walk. Together, but not together. The rain drips on his shoulder.

"T-This is my home," she tells him, a shy attempt at conversation, as they round the corner to face a modest wooden house with a small yard at the front. "Ah… It looks like Nobuyuki-san isn't home yet… I guess that means I still have time to cook dinner for him."

But he doesn't comment, only looks about him with expressionless blue eyes as she moves to the doorway and opens it. She offers for him to come inside, though they both knew that he would refuse. Away from the protective shade of her umbrella, the rain catches him again like a demon, drumming impatiently upon his clothes, clinging to him in a way she could not, anymore.

"Toshiro-san," she says into the silence, suddenly overtaken by a spurt of decisiveness and an overwhelming desire to keep their story from ending. "Take… Take my umbrella on the way back." He starts, eyes wide, but it is her final display of courage and she drives on with odd determination. "You'll… catch a cold otherwise. Toshiro-san."

He stares blankly at the umbrella as though it were an alien thing, jaw clenching with such ferocity it is almost painful. "Oi..." he mutters, voice barely restrained with… _something._  "You know I can't… I wouldn't... be able to give it back to you."

But she gazes firmly at him, resolved. "Then keep it, Toshiro. It's fine, I have... more than one umbrella, you know."

Abruptly, he looks up, eyes suddenly blazing, but when he speaks it is not a warning, as before, but a plea. "Mitsuba," he says, arms pressing tightly against his sides. "Don't."

She trembles, but neither her heart nor her body would not allow her to retract her offer. "At least take it for the journey back," she implores, though something within her knows she should not. "Stay dry until you get back. Then you can get rid of it. I don't… You don't need to return anything to me."

His brows are furrowed; he looks in anguish, but finally he reaches out with cold hands and accepts it. Their palms brush, just momentarily, but neither comments, for his fingers are like ice to her skin and her warmth a flame against his. Too much; it was too much. They are both hurting the other and when the umbrella is passed over he pulls away and steps back with an expression more relieved than anything else.

She holds the door. "Take care, Toshiro-san," she whispers, smiling through the pain of something suffocating. "Don't… Don't smoke too much. It's bad for your health."

Finally, he looks down at the burnt-out stump in his mouth, and he frowns as though noticing for the first time. But still he holds on to it, pale fingers clenching white-knuckled and with something akin to desperation. "Can't." He answers, shortly. Bluntly. "Kondou-san said the same thing, once. It doesn't work like that."

She opens her mouth, to protest, but he suddenly barks out a sharp laugh and turns half a shoulder away, rain pitter-pattering upon his new umbrella. "Don't worry about my lungs," he says, voice grating. "Look after your own."

Then he's striding away, her pink umbrella cast over his head, and in his back she sees again the finality in his resolve. Tall and straight-backed. He is still the man she had once loved.

Still loved.

"Close the door, Okita-san. It's cold."

She bites her lip, and it is only when he can no longer see her that she allows the tears to flood. "I'll wait until you're gone, Hijikata-san." She calls after him, knowing, hoping, that he would not hear the tremble in her voice from the pattering of the rain.

He doesn't turn. Doesn't acknowledge her.

But he wouldn't, because it is _him_  after all, and he is too stubborn, too proud, too determined, to let her see him like this, and she knows, _knows_ that somewhere out of her sight he will stop and deny the salty droplets which fall, like the rain on his umbrella, down both their cheeks.

So she clings to the door, the rickety, wooden door, and watches the pink spot of her – his – umbrella growing steadily smaller, watches as the grey sky swallows him up, and her tears with him. A cold gust rushes into the house, and she knows she will be ill for it the next day.

Still she stands, watching the droplets fall long after they had taken him away.

* * *

And out of her sight, he too, stands, hands tight around her – his – umbrella and trembling, waiting, alone, because he knows, _knows_ that she will continue to stand there, foolish as she is, with the door wide open and the chill settling on her shoulders, waiting and waiting, though there is nothing to wait for any longer.

_Idiots, the both of us._

When he finally moves again, his legs are numb and his body is cold though the umbrella is shielding him from the skies. In his mouth he tastes the damp paper of a cigarette he has been holding on for too long, and, round another bend, he finally tosses it, watching its shrivelled form fall in an oddly graceful arc on to the ground, where it lay unmoving, like something dead.

He stares at it for a while as though mourning the loss of a friend, then he steps away.

After a while, he returns, hesitating, to set the umbrella down next to it.

And this time, when he turns to leave for good, he tells himself that his face is only wet from the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to get rid of the Hijikata / Mitsuba feels. They have such a beautiful, painful love story and I only hope I could do them vague justice （ ; ; ）Thank you for reading. Any thoughts would be appreciated~


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